


Between a Frog and a Hard Place

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Radioactive frogs and a portent of doom. No, seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between a Frog and a Hard Place

"How do I let you talk me into these things?"

"What's your problem now?"

"Dean, we're stomping around a swamp, looking for a radioactive frog."

"And?"

"And doesn't it ever seem a little weird to you?"

"What matters to me is that Bobbi Rae lost her brother to this thing, not to mention half her livestock. I aim to stop it from happening again."

"All right," Sam surrendered and was silent.

For a moment.

"But still..."

Dean turned and growled, "Of course I feel stupid hunting a mutant frog. But that's the job."

"That's all I wanted to know." Sam returned his attention to the instrument in his hand.

"Are you sure you're the 'normal' one?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam ignored him, focusing on the device. "Where did you get a Geiger counter, anyway?"

"Don't ask; you don't want to know."

Sam was stubborn, but he knew if his brother said something like that, it was best to listen. He had enough weird images in his head; he'd rather not invite more.

He listened to the noises of the radiation counter, while Dean followed close behind, holding a spray can and his lighter. The best way to ward off hot frogs was with fire. Ironic. At a furious set of beeps, Sam stopped short, swinging the Geiger counter from side to side. "I think I got something," he whispered to Dean.

"You sure?"

"Um, I can pretty much guarantee it," Sam said, pointing straight ahead.

Dean looked and his mouth fell open. "Holy shit."

Around a small pond, there were close to a dozen frogs, all with varying degrees of mutation: gold eyes, red skin, multiple limbs. And those were the more ordinary ones. There was one with fangs, one the size of a German Shepherd, and two that even freaked Dean out—they were walking upright on their back legs.

"That is _so_ wrong," he said, raising his arms to spray the flame.

In addition to the homemade flamethrower, they were armed with handguns, and took the frogs out fairly easily and quickly.

Grimacing, Dean wiped some of the slime from his jacket. "See what happens when nuclear waste is left lying around?"

"You're just upset they were frogs, not turtles," Sam shot back, brushing himself off as well.

"Don't talk bad about Raphael, dude." Dean pointed a warning finger. "He was a _ninja_."

"I'm just glad we had enough firepower to take them all out."

"How was I supposed to know there was a group of them?" defended Dean. "Bobbi Rae said there was only one."

"Maybe you should have been checking her out less and questioning her more," Sam offered.

"I was _comforting_ her in her time of sorrow."

"I'm pretty sure comforting includes looking above the neck."

"Says you." Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Let's go tell her the good news."

~*~*~*~

As they walked up to the house, the door opened and Bobbi Rae Gantry came running out, throwing herself first at Dean, then Sam.

"I'm so glad you're all right," she said, moving back to grab Dean's arm.

"No sweat, sweetheart," Dean said, valiantly ignoring Sam's smirk. "We killed the frogs, so you should be safe and sound."

"Thank you so much. I shouldn't've worried, though. She's always right."

"She who?" Sam wondered.

"Miss Abigail."

"Who's Miss Abigail?" Dean asked.

"Oh, she's our town's psychic, though she don't like being called that."

"Why not?"

"On account of the information goes through her." Bobbi Rae made a vague gesture. "She just writes it down."

"Automatic writing," offered Sam.

"Yeah, I got that," Dean shot back.

"And she told you we'd help?"

Bobbi Rae nodded. "The message said two handsome young men would be coming to help, so don't refuse their offer." She smiled coyly. "So I s'pose I shouldn't refuse _any_ offer from y'all."

Sam cleared his throat, subtly stepping on his brother's foot as Dean moved forward. "No, that's okay; we were glad to help."

Dean frowned, but shrugged his agreement.

"Can you tell us where Miss Abigail lives?" Sam asked.

Bobbi Rae quickly recovered from her disappointment. "Oh, surely. You can't miss it. Just head east on Davenport until you reach Peachtree, hang a left to Magnolia, and her house is the purple one."

"The purple one."

She winked. "Like I said, you can't miss it."

Maneuvering Dean out of Bobbi Rae's death grip, Sam pushed him toward the car.

Dean sent back a happy wave as he pulled out, before turning to address his brother. "Why'd you want to know about Miss Abigail?"

Sam shrugged. "As long as we're here, we might as well check her out. Maybe she could help us find Dad."

"I don't know, Sam."

Sam reached over and patted his brother's knee. "Don't worry, if she's anything like Missouri, I'll protect you."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, you did that so well last time."

Ducking his head, Sam turned to the window so his brother couldn't see his smile.

~*~*~*~

"I'm guessing that's it," Dean said, his face showing his dismay.

"I guess so," Sam agreed. "Man, when she said purple, she wasn't kidding."

"Dude, that house would have Prince saying enough is enough."

The one-story house was painted bright purple with lavender trim. All the flowers in the window boxes and along the driveway, though well kept, were varying shades of purple.

Squinting at the sight, Sam deadpanned, "My eyes hurt."

"You think it's safe? She might spray-paint us when we walk in."

"Be brave, Dean."

With a flip of his finger, Dean stepped out of the car, shutting the creaking door behind him.

Sam rang the bell and stepped back to await an answer.

Dean leaned in and snickered. "So you think her hair is purple, too?"

"Knock it off, she's coming."

The front door swung inward, revealing a very small woman, anywhere from forty to sixty years of age. Though dressed entirely in lilac, she didn't have purple hair…it was dyed bright red.

"May I help you?" she asked, shining a welcoming smile.

Dean stepped forward before Sam could say anything. "Hello, I'm Frank Henson. This is my brother, Jim."

Sam barely kept his eyes from rolling at his brother's sense of humor. He didn't know how exactly to bring up what he wanted, but he certainly didn't want to alienate the woman, either. "Bobbi Rae Gantry told us about you."

"Oh, that poor girl. How is she doing?" She ushered them into her house, sitting them in her living room. Surprisingly, it included shades of pink along with the expected purple. "Did you take care of her problem?" Abigail said, bringing Sam's attention back.

The Winchesters exchanged a look. "Problem?" Sam asked.

"Why, her amphibian problem, of course. I told her you'd be coming to help."

He grabbed at the opening. "How exactly did you know we'd be coming?"

"I wrote it."

"Wrote it?"

"That's the real reason you're here, isn't it? To see what I can do."

"We _are_ curious," Sam admitted.

"Actually, it's not me at all—I'm simply a conduit." Abigail folded her hands together. "The spirits surrounding us use me to relay information."

"Just how accurate is this information?" Dean asked.

"It's yet to be wrong," Abigail proudly stated. She eyed the boys perceptively. "Is there something in particular you'd like to know?"

Dean still seemed hesitant to ask, so Sam filled the silence. "Our father is missing."

"Oh, you poor things. Of course I'll help you." She hustled them into another room, chatting all the while. "But you must realize I only receive what they offer, so there's no guarantee what will come through. It's whatever they deem important."

"We'd be grateful for anything."

Abigail pointed at two chairs near an antique secretary. "All right, then, have a seat and I'll open a channel."

Sam sat in the chair nearest the desk while Dean took the other.

Abigail sat at the desk, lowering the front door to use as a writing surface. "This is where I feel most connected." She placed a blank piece of paper on the desktop and picked up a pen. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and released it once, twice, three times. Then she set the pen to paper and waited.

Nothing happened.

Dean started to shift around in his chair. He scowled when Sam shot him a dirty look and mouthed, _Sit still,_ but did as instructed.

Suddenly Abigail's hand started to move, in circles at first, making a large mark on the page. Apparently done with its warm-up, the pen streaked across the page, jagged letters in its wake.

Three quick lines and the pen was still.

Opening her eyes, Abigail shook her head as if to clear it. She looked down at the paper. "Oh, dear, not another one."

Instantly alert, Dean leaned closer. "Another what?"

The older woman flipped the paper over, shielding its contents from her visitors. "I'd rather not say."

"Is it bad?" Sam asked.

"Not for either of you, dear, but for someone it is."

"What does that mean?" Evidently, Dean was losing what little patience he had with the routine.

"Please tell us," Sam earnestly implored.

"It's happened before and I've hated each time." Shaking, she passed the paper across to Sam. It took him a moment to make out the uneven scrawl.

 _Samuel Winchester will die tomorrow._

 __Feeling the blood drain from his face, Sam worked to keep any expression from betraying his shock.

"So...Jim, what is it?" Dean asked.

"Nothing, it's nothing." Sam had already seen what happened when you tried to cheat Death when he'd found the faith healer to fix his brother. He didn't want someone else paying for this, and he didn't want Dean to carry any more guilt. Sam stood, practically shoving the page back at Abigail. "We have to be going, ma'am."

"What?" Dean looked between the two of them. "What did it say?"

Abigail's face showed her confusion. "Do you know him, young man?"

"Know who?" Dean had passed confusion and flown straight into anger. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The message from the other side foretold a death," revealed Abigail.

Dean's eyes hardened. "Whose death?"

Abigail watched the brothers, trying to work out the puzzle before her.

"Let's go," Sam demanded.

Dean ignored Sam and marched over to snatch up the paper, easily pushing aside Sam's attempt to block.

Sam hung his head, wanting to avoid his brother's eyes, though he could feel Dean's gaze on him.

A tense moment passed.

"You said this has happened before?" Dean asked, voice achingly calm.

Sam raised his head and looked at Abigail. She was glancing back and forth between them, sensing something was wrong, but not knowing exactly what.

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "This would be the fourth time."

"The fourth time you predicted someone's death?"

She nodded.

"And what happened to the first three people?"

Sam barely heard the whispered, "I was right."

Finally, Sam looked at his brother. Dean stood stock still, face completely blank. Somehow, Sam found his voice. "Thank you, Miss Abigail. We appreciate your time."

The older woman nodded uncertainly. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you find your father."

"It was a long shot, anyway," Sam admitted. His brother remained silent.

The walk back to the car felt interminable. Once inside, Sam didn't want to open the conversation, but he needed to know what Dean was planning.

"Where are we going?" he asked, watching the neighborhoods fly by.

A pause. "Back to the motel to pack, then we're getting out of this damn town."

"What?"

"We're leaving," Dean repeated.

"We can't, we still have a job to finish."

"It's done."

"We don't know that for sure. We can't leave yet."

"Well, we sure as hell aren't staying here. I read the note, Sam."

"Yeah, so did I." Sam finally looked at his brother. "You know as well as I do you can't outrun Death."

Dean clenched his jaw. "There's got to be something we can do."

"We'll wait until tomorrow," Sam said as if the answer was obvious.

"Not gonna happen."

"If it's supposed to happen, you can't stop it." Sam deliberately echoed his brother from not that long ago.

Dean recognized the words. "You didn't listen to me then; why should I listen to you now?"

"Because you can learn from my mistake." It was the first time Sam had admitted it aloud, that saving his brother might have cost so much more.

Dean pulled up to their motel. He slammed the car into Park, but didn't turn the engine off.

Sam's hand hesitated on the door handle. "You coming in?"

"Nope."

Sam knew better than to push. Whatever was going through Dean's head had to be bad, and he didn't want to add anything else to the already tumultuous emotions. He watched the Impala drive away, wheels squealing on the pavement. But as much as Dean was a mystery, Sam knew for a fact he would cool off and return before long.

Sam was proven right ten minutes later when Dean walked in the door, wordlessly falling on his bed.

Sam returned his attention to his journal, and the room was quiet except for the scratching of his pen. For a reason unknown even to himself, he'd already accepted his soon-to-be demise. It wasn't as though he was happy at the thought—he was terrified of deserting his brother, actually; but not scared of the actual event. Dean would never understand his acceptance, however, and he wrote a message, hoping his brother would find it once he was gone.

Before long, Dean broke his self-imposed silence. "How realistic is it that she's right?"

Dean was ready to grasp at any straw, and Sam felt awful for having to yank it away. "There was a legend from the '30s, I think, about an old stonecutter who carved the gravestones for everyone born in his town. A few times in his life he carved the death dates, too, well before the person died." Sam stopped the story, not sure if he should go on.

"Was he right?" Dean asked in hushed tones.

"Every instance, or so they say."

"You know, 'they' tend to be full of shit."

"You'd be the best judge of that."

Dean sat up and slid back against the headboard, staring at Sam. "I'm not ready." _To say goodbye._

Sam stared back. "I know."

A harsh ringing jarred the brothers.

Dean tore his gaze away and flipped his phone open. "Look, Bobbi Rae, it's not a good time."

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered.

Dean waved a hand at him. "Yeah, of course we do.... I thought we had.... Sorry about that.... We'll leave right now." He snapped the phone shut.

"Trouble?"

"Apparently, we missed a frog. Or three."

"What? What happened?"

"Bobbi Rae's favorite dog disappeared."

"Maybe it ran off."

"She found a leg in the yard."

Sam winced, thought for a second, then asked, "Dog leg?"

"Frog leg...and not suitable for eating."

Sam sighed. "I'll get the Geiger counter, you get your flamethrower."

~*~*~*~

This time as they trudged through the swamp, Dean led the way.

Sam tried to ignore the constant glances back at him. "I'm still here," he sing-songed.

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam shut up. He'd be doing the same thing in his brother's case, probably worse, not that Dean would allow it. And Sam had never had any reason to doubt his brother's love, not even during the years they hadn't seen each other.

But if Death was coming for him, he didn't want Dean stepping into its path.

They headed toward the pond where they'd found the frogs the last time, but it was empty. Sam flipped on the Geiger counter, circling the water, checking for fresh signs. He knew without looking that Dean was covering his back.

On the far edge of the pond, the machine started beeping, short bursts at first, but Sam followed the trail to a stronger beat. Slogging through a few hundred more yards of wet marsh, the duo emerged to see another pond with over twenty frogs. Unfortunately, these seemed to be even more mutated than the last batch.

"I think we found the extended family," Dean whispered.

"Hope they're as friendly," Sam returned, putting the counter down and pulling out his gun.

"All right, stick with me. We'll start to our left and go around the pond."

Dean held his Zippo in front of an aerosol can, burning everything he saw. Sam tucked himself behind, covering Dean with his 9mm, and pointing out incoming amphibians.

"Ten o'clock."

Dean turned and shot the flame as directed. They slowly made a circuit of the pond. Lowering his weapon, Dean asked, "Is that all of 'em?"

Sam looked around, watching for movement. "I think so." Cautiously putting his gun away, he walked over to the Geiger counter to check to be certain.

"Sam!"

Dean's shout brought his head up, but too late to avoid the spitting frog. A blast of heat spread across his face and into his eyes, and he screamed.

Barely hearing the gunfire that surely killed his attacker, Sam struggled to concentrate through the searing pain. Hands grabbed his arms and forced him forward, even as he struggled without thought. Falling to his knees, there was a splash and blessedly cool water washed over his face, taking some of the heat away.

Sam tried not to think about what organisms might be living in the swamp water, knowing it was a choice between disease and blindness at this point.

"Hang on, Sam."

Common sense slowly returning, Sam was able to continue splashing water on his face as his brother directed. He heard a tearing noise, then a cold, wet bandage was wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

"You'd better appreciate my sacrifice; that was my Zeppelin II t-shirt."

"It never looked good on you," Sam managed.

The burning had thankfully stopped, rendering his eyes numb but useless.

"We need to get back to the car."

Sam heard Dean's concern and tried to reassure him. "I'll be fine; it's not tomorrow yet." As if that made any sense.

A stone-cold tone informed him, "It's after midnight."

"Oops...punctual, isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Death."

"Don't start that shit, Sammy. I'm not going to listen to it, not when you should be saving your breath for walking." Dean hoisted Sam up, keeping one arm around his waist, the other holding Sam's arm over his shoulder. "Let's go, one foot in front of the other."

Mechanically, Sam did so, trusting his guide, though finding it surprisingly hard to follow the simple instructions. _One, two, one, two, one, two._ When he tried to walk another step, his leg wouldn't respond. "Dean?"

"What?" Dean pulled him along,

"I can't…" Sam lost track of what he was trying to say.

"Come on, Sam, we're almost there."

But Sam couldn't answer. He was already falling into darkness.

~*~*~*~

A steady beeping welcomed him awake, but the light was too bright. Sam fought against opening his eyes. Squinting tighter, he turned away from the source. Immediately, he heard a shuffling noise, and the room darkened. Sam tentatively cracked an eye open and saw Dean standing by the window, lowering the blinds.

"That better?" Dean asked softly.

Sam managed a slight nod. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. "What happened?"

"You died."

Sam made a show of looking around. "So is this heaven?"

Dean grunted. "You're not that lucky."

Sam took in his brother's red eyes and unshaven cheeks. "You look like hell. Did I go the other way?"

 _"I'm_ not that lucky." Dean tried to smile, but it was a piss-poor effort.

"So what happened? Last thing I remember is trying to get back to the car after getting zapped by the frog."

"You made it about halfway before you collapsed." Dean leaned against the wall next to the window. "Thanks to my new hernia, I carried you the rest of the way and got you to the hospital."

Sam mulled over the information, working through the clearing fog in his head. "But you said I died."

Dean turned away, pulling back the blinds to look out the window. "Yeah. Just after I got you here, your heart stopped beating for three minutes."

Sam didn't want to imagine how awful those three minutes must have been—or how long it would have seemed to stretch. "So Abigail was right."

"Technically, yeah."

"But I'm okay."

Dean drew his eyes from the window. "Doc says so. They flushed the poison out of your eyes and pumped a shitload of antibiotics into you." He nodded at a bag across the room. "We got some eye drops to take with us, to make sure your eyes don't fall outta your head."

"Is it tomorrow yet?" Sam asked.

Dean should realize what he meant. "Not quite."

"Well, considering I already died once today, I should be fine."

Dean remained silent.

"I'm fine," Sam said more forcefully, and was rewarded with a nod. That was something at least.

He was starting to drift off when he heard a quiet, "May I come in?"

Forcing his eyes open, he saw Abigail at the door. "Of course."

Dean shot out a brusque, "What are you doing here?"

The older woman ignored Dean's rudeness. Walking into the room, she placed a small planter of flowers—purple, of course—next to Sam's bed. "I wanted to make sure Samuel was okay."

The brothers exchanged startled looks.

"I may be old, but I'm not feebleminded. From the way you two reacted at my house, I knew one of you was Samuel." She tilted her head and smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Flustered, Sam stammered, "I...it wasn't your fault."

"I know I never cause what comes through, but it hurts to be the bearer of such bad news. It's still a burden on my soul." Reaching out, she patted Dean on the arm. "I'm just glad in this case it was temporary."

"Me, too," Sam admitted.

Dean took a step away from Abigail, but asked, "How do you do it?"

"I figure I was chosen for a reason. That means I have to take the good and the bad." She bent over Sam and quietly said, "But it seems to me you boys already know that." And, to Sam's embarrassment, she kissed his cheek.

His brother's smirk faded quickly when Abigail walked over and repeated her action on Dean's cheek, pulling him down so she could reach it.

"You two take care of each other," she admonished.

"Yes, ma'am," the boys chorused.

Dean watched her go. "She's got some miles on her, but I think you and she can work it out."

"Thanks," Sam laughed, "but I'd hate to have to watch out for you stealing her away."

Dean huffed on his fingernails and rubbed them against his chest, beaming with pride. "Can't compete with perfection, Sammy."

With a smile gracing his face, Sam allowed himself to sleep, actively ignoring his brother, who was still staring at him as if he were going to disappear.

~*~*~*~

Sam slipped his sunglasses over his eyes and leaned back into the leather.

Dean shut the car door and walked around to his side, getting in and turning the key. "You sure you're ready to go?"

"Yeah, as long as the frogs are really taken care of this time."

Dean's hands tightened slightly on the wheel, and he shot a quick glance Sam's way. "Well, while you've been lazing around for the past two days, I checked the swamp and talked to Bobbi Rae—no sign of any more psycho, nuclear Kermits."

"Good enough."

Dean nodded.

After a few minutes, Sam asked, "So, where are we headed?"

"Heard there might be a pair of Piasa Birds up in Illinois."

"Lucky us."

Speeding past the town's _Thank You For Visiting_ sign, Dean said, "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"No more frogs...or psychics."

Sam smiled and closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the seat. "No promises, dude."


End file.
